Meet the Mobs
by Pacmantacco
Summary: Ever wonder what the mobs do when they're not at your throat? There's got to be more to the mobs than we think! Meet the Mobs is a collection of short stories, each one featuring on of Minecraft's many mobs. With time, every mob will be covered, no exceptions.
1. Pigman Meets World (Zombie Pigman)

_**Khan the Zombie Pigman in...**_

**Chapter 1: Pigman Meets World**

Sealed off in the subterranean reaches of the Nether, a corpulent frame of decaying meat and scorched flesh wandered tirelessly through the unchanging landscape.

The scars and deformities that riddled Khan's body served as reminders to his past skirmishes with the adventurers that were as consistent and expected in the hellish terrain as the sweltering heat. An ear lost to an arrow, his stomach laid open by a hatchet and his chest slashed open by a sword swipe, yet the beast was unfazed by the injuries.

For the first time in his life, the creature was alone. He was once a lowly grunt for one of the nomadic tribes that set the foundations for the very survival of his species, but Khan aspired to lead. Battle after battle, he never failed to prove his worth through gory deeds. His eventual rise through the ranks was not-so-subtly helped along by that fact that he did not hesitate to kill those who commanded him in a bloody display of gore and carnage. Throughout the vicious campaigns against the curious adventurers who visited his realm, Khan distinguished himself in glorious carnage, his star of fame shining ever brighter, while the number of comrades in arms steadily dwindled.

But when the amount of troops who fought alongside him numbered zero, Khan soon realized that it was not the desire to lead that drove him, rather the love of bloodshed. Shunned and eventually banished for his unpredictable and volatile behavior, Khan set out into the hellish wastes in search of anything to quench his unhealthy blood-thirst.

The walking corpse hummed an empty tune as he tossed a sword salvaged off of the remains of an ill-prepared adventurer and caught it with skill he rarely possessed. The feat went unnoticed.

Sighing to himself, Khan plucked the small chunks of rotting flesh that coated his blade and flicked them off into the distance. The five days since his banishment had been rather uneventful. The labyrinth of caves in which he found refuge stretched on for miles and were devoid of life of any kind.

But on his sixth day of exile, he found a body. Though not much remained of the corpse; the flesh had been stripped away and all that remained was a horribly charred skeleton. Within his primitive mind, Khan made a decision. A body meant a battle had taken place. And battles meant carnage.

Emitting a squeal of sadistic childlike delight, Khan delved deeper into the network of caverns.

He trekked on for several more hours, never needing to stop to eat or rest. Such luxuries were beyond reach for his species anyway. Instead, fueled by newfound determination, Khan marched deeper and deeper into the caverns.

Nearly four hours into his journey, the trail of charred skeletons and discarded loot led him to a massive fissure. Unlike the rest of the labyrinth, the long drop into the craggy earth was devoid of any light. Bodies littered the ground around the opening like autumn leaves; dried blood defined the texture of the fissure's opening, the crimson splattered over every surface like crude graffiti, further depicting the carnage that had taken place.

Khan leaned dangerously close to the ledge, desperate to get a glimpse of what could possibly lie beyond the sheer drop. As Khan did his best to carefully balance himself on the ledge his footing wavered and he tumbled over the edge, sliding and crashing all the way down the fissure's steep walls

Khan felt as if he were moving at half his speed as he felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet. Shards of netherrack and rubble rushed past him, grazing him as he fell past them. He tried desperately to grab for protrusions in the wall but found none and within seconds he hit the ground with a sickening crack. He grunted, stifling a cry as a blinding pain shot from his left leg. For an instant, his vision blurred but it was not long before he begun to get his bearings back.

Realizing he had survived the fall, Khan slowly peeled his eyes open. He awkwardly pulled himself upwards, his breath harsh and heavy. Suddenly his attention was captured by a soft purple glow. His eyes snapped open and his mouth went agape.

A mere few feet in away, contained within a sturdy obsidian frame, tendrils spun and flashed in front of him in an elegant display of magenta and purple. The portal seemed to beckon to him, tempting him to step through.

Completely captivated, Khan, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, stepped up to the spirals. The pain that had consumed him earlier seemed to fade away, instead replaced by an intense curiosity. As he neared the portal, the spirals began to overwhelm his vision until he was blinded by flashing purple. An unpleasant coolness began crawling up through his arms and legs before chilling his bones.

Khan let out an animalistic roar as he lashed out at a nonexistent enemy to no avail. The coolness soon gave away to a dull numbness which gave away to an intense pain. He thrashed wildly as the burning sensation engulfed him. Gritting his teeth together, Khan braced himself for a painful death. Then suddenly… it all stopped.

He was ejected from the portal, sending him sprawling to his knees in the dirt and grime. It took Khan every ounce of willpower to stop himself from collapsing from exhaustion. He rolled onto his side, the heat creating dancing mirages ahead of him, and groaned.

"What the hell, is that a Pigman?"

The instant Khan registered the presence of another person; he was already on his feet. He drew his golden sword, a thin and long weapon and caught a flash as his opponent; a bulky figure dressed from head to toe in chainmail, swung a sword high and brought it down onto him. Khan snarled in rage as he jumped backwards, feeling a rush of cold air as the blade narrowly missed his face. Empowered by his sadistic love of carnage, Khan stepped forwards and slashed wildly with his sword. The blade hissed as it cut through cold air, aimed at his opponent's midriff. A clang of metal resounded through the night as his assailant clumsily parried his blade. The sheer force of the attack yanked the sword from his opponent's hands and it plunged into the dirt.

His eyes connected with his assailant's, meeting him with an unforgiving glare. Khan held his sword up high, intent on plunging the blade deep into his opponent's thigh. The swordsman chanced a glance at his sword on the ground, contemplating whether or not he was quick enough to grab it and avoid his opponent's blade at the same time. Khan didn't give him the chance.

He maneuvered to get into a mount on his chest. The swordsman tried for a punch, but missed terribly. Khan had the dominant position and put his left hand at his throat. With his right, he spun the blade to a better hold. Khan stabbed into the swordsman's chest, sinking it all the way down. The handle rested against the fleshy lump. The hulking beast rolled off of him and away.

Satisfied, Khan cackled maniacally. It was time to let the world know it had a new master.

**Author's Note (1/2/2015):**

**Hey guys! As some of you may have noticed, I am finally coming back to this story after nearly a year! Now that I'm back, I plan to go back and clean up several older chapters. In particular, I will be going back to fix grammar, spelling and overall formatting issues; as a result, you may notice some changes in past chapters. I have also taken the time to actually _complete_ the series; and thus, the series while have a proper conclusion this time around! I hope you all enjoy!**


	2. It's Hard to Say Goodbye (Wolf)

**_Bear the Wolf in..._**

**Chapter 2: It's Hard to Say Goodbye**

I remember the day fondly. I had my favorite food that day, thick meaty strips of raw beef. He had brought it to me, then sat beside me and stroked my tangled fur as I ate. I wasn't able to finish it all, so I pushed it over to him so he could have it. He had done everything for me, the least I could've done is share with him. He started crying and kissed me, so I licked him in return. I couldn't understand why he was so sad, all I understood was that day; he left me.

That day we had gone on a grand adventure, as we did every day. I would've never guessed that it would be our last time together. I remember getting hurt that day, but he had taken the greatest care of me. He had rushed to my side, stroking my fur as he fed scraps of stringy meat, asking me the whole time if I was okay. I responded with the wag of my tail and he wrapped his arms around me tightly, starting to cry again.

Maybe if I understood his sadness, I could've stopped him from leaving.

But it was too late to make regrets. He was gone now, leaving me alone in the world to fend for myself. I didn't know what to do without him. There was no one to obey, no one listen to. I was on my own.

I had stayed behind at the house for a few days, hoping he would come back, hoping he had just gotten himself lost as he had done in the past. He never returned.

Common sense took over and I realized that I would starve if I stayed at the house for much longer, he wouldn't want that. He wasn't there to feed me anymore, but I knew how to hunt, how to track. Even after I joined him, my natural instincts stayed with me.

Maybe this was all a game; that must be it. He would never let me go hungry. He must be hiding somewhere waiting expectantly for me to find him. How could I be so foolish to think he would just leave me?

I perked up immediately, convinced by my new theory. With newfound determination, I leapt out the doorway and into the world. He was out there, I was sure of it.

I just needed to find him.


	3. Identity Crisis (Iron Golem)

_**Rust the Iron Golem in...**_

**Chapter 3: Identity Crisis**

Many long years ago, the village would've been bustling with life. The townsfolk would have ventured out from the safety of their measly wooden shacks, blessed with the certainty that the undead had been burnt away by the sun's warm rays. They would've wasted no time attending to their daily activities, the farmers tended to the fields, the librarians fumbling with their books; there had once been a serene sense of civility among the townsfolk.

Of course those days were long gone.

Now the town lay in utter ruin; buildings lay crushed and defiled, long lost to the elements. The fields became overgrown and unruly with no one left behind to tend to them.

Nature was already reclaiming its own. Wildlife normally fearful of settled areas had begun to wander inward, as the buildings became abandoned, fallen from non-use, burned down or demolished. Grass, trees, wildflowers and vines had overrun the brick, wood and cobblestone that had once stood in their place for decades, leaving only the crisscrossing gravel roads as reminders that the land had once been inhabited.

The townsfolk have long since left for greener pastures. Despite their tools of iron and jungles of cobblestone, they did not stand a chance against nature's invading forces. Humanity's a funny thing.

I remain alone, still keeping watch over the empty streets. As there is no one who remains for me to defend, I have plenty of time to do nothing but think. In this time I have wondered, what purpose do I hold in the world?

I came to life a chunk of iron, yet my origins are a mystery on which I continually speculate. Who forged my iron carapace? Who cast the magic that surges through my veins? And yet the ultimate question. Why?

Finally, I could no longer simply sit and wonder. I needed to know. Abandoning the post I had held for decades, and the village I had served with my life, I set out into the world.

For years a deep curiosity drove me, and I travelled the world seeking my origins, my creators, and my people. The forces that weather lesser rocks do not hinder me.

As I roam, I uncover more questions than answers. Nevertheless, my insatiable curiosity to know the truth urges me to continue.

I need to know.

**Author's Note (1/2/2015):**

**Hey guys! I though that I should let you know that a "Wattpad Edition" of the story has been posted! If you guys would like to view any of the content exclusive to this edition of the story, feel free to check it out here: **_** myworks/25799540-meet-the-mobs**_

**Just so you all know, there will be content exclusive to both the "Wattpad Edition" and the " Edition".**


	4. All in my Head (Zombie)

_**Lazarus the Zombie in...**_

**Chapter 4: All in my Head**

"He hadn't bitten me," I repeated to myself for the thousandth time that night in a pathetic attempt to comfort myself. "It's just a cut. It didn't bite me."

He'd tackled me through the shelves a vacant marketplace. I had been scrounging through the last of the leftover goods, desperately looking for anything remotely useful, when a shelf toppled over and pinned me down. My assailant had been pinned down as well, clawing at the empty racks in a desperate to get closer to me. My sword had been knocked too far out of my reach and my bow pinned to my side, likely snapped in two by the impact anyways.

The splintered wood had left a deep, searing gash in my shoulder. His fingers, worn away to the bone and crusted with dried blood and rotting flesh, managed to find a hold on the lip of the shelf. I scrambled to get away as he pulled himself out from the wreckage. My shoulder screamed in agony with every movement.

Just as he had finally freed himself, my fingers had finally found purchase around the hilt of my sword and I drove it through his neck. He did not bleed like a normal person would. Nevertheless I abandoned the blade, not ever wanting to wield it again.

I stumbled out of the marketplace and into the gravel streets. My shoulder was dripping with bright, crimson blood. It soaked through the threadbare scraps of my shirt, shining a bit in the moonlight. I was transfixed.

My shoulder pulsed with pain. The blood wouldn't stop flowing. I carefully examined the wound and noted that the skin was starting to swell red. Maybe it had cut deeper than I initially thought. The skin around the gash was swelling. Hopefully it wasn't infected. It wasn't a bite at least.

As I wandered the streets, an insatiable hunger suddenly crept up on me. Once I felt it, I couldn't shake it out of my head. I immediately collapsed on the side of the road, with a shudder, fishing a loaf of bread out from my pouch. I bit an ample chunk out of the loaf, and spat it out immediately. It tasted awful, like choking down chalk-flavored cardboard.

It must've gone bad, I thought to myself. Not wanting to risk another bite, I tossed the loaf to the side of the road. I reached into my pouch again, but came up with nothing.

It was freezing out. My skin had grown clammy. I rubbed my arms, trying to generate some warmth, but it was useless. In the dark, I could barely see. My eyes ached, hopefully from the lack of sleep. My shoulder was still screaming out in agonizing pain. It hadn't even been that long, but the blood had started drying around the edge of the wound. As a matter of fact, it was already scabbing.

In the woods off the path, I sensed movement. A wild pig, maybe. I could hear it. Smell it. Taste it. I pictured its juicy haunches and hearty meat. I barely noticed that I was salivating. One bite of unpalatable bread hadn't nearly filled me up, but maybe some pork would.

Unconsciously, I moved into the woods driven by some unseen force. Part of me knew something was wrong, that I should just go back, but that thought just fell out of my mind. If I went back, I might lose the pig, I rationalized. There was no reason to go back.

I blundered through the trees, making enough noise to alert every living creature within a mile radius. Branches lashed against my bare arms, but the pain had been reduced to a dull numbness. I couldn't feel the scratches left behind by the branches that tore at my flesh; or anything at all. I told myself that it was a sign of healing. Miraculously, the pig wasn't running. I sped up my pace, still able to smell it nearby. I didn't even bother looking at where I was going; I could practically taste it.

I burst into a clearing, illuminated by the fading moonlight. Every flash of concern was quickly forgotten as I spotted the pig ahead of me. I dashed ahead, sprinting full out with a burst of speed. I'd never run like this before. In the back of my mind, I could feel my thighs screaming in pain, but it was as if I was disconnected from my body. I pushed myself hard, harder than I ever have before. I chased my fleeing prey like a hound, salivating heavily as I bound after it. It weaved through the trees, agile and fast, but somehow I was catching up.

It seemed to have a lame leg; that was the only way I could have caught it. Saliva dribbled down my chin as I panted and gasped for air, but my lungs weren't burning like they should have been. I pursued the pig, blundering blindly through brush and branches, until I managed to dive and grab it by its hind leg. It squealed and thrashed wildly as I got a better grip. My hand ripped into its hide, tearing off a chunk of leathery skin.

Without hesitation, I pinned down the pig and tore at its throat. A gush of blood sprayed onto the ground. I dipped my head and ripped at the wound, tearing away a mass of flesh and blood with my teeth. I chewed and swallowed it eagerly, savoring every bite.

I needed more. The pig was still struggling in intense pain, flailing wildly. Uncaring, I took another bite from its throat. I took more meat from my kill, barely stopping to chew. Blood splattered across my head and chest as I practically burrowed into it, shredding the pig to pieces. I couldn't get enough. My stomach seemed to get emptier with each bite. I had lost all control.

When I had finished off the pig, I stood suddenly.

I needed more to satisfy my hunger.


	5. What's Yours is Mine (Villager)

**_Corvo the Villager in..._**

**Chapter 5: What's Yours is Mine**

I had always enjoyed hearing the great fables brought back by the adventurers who set out abroad to distant lands. But one story had struck me in particular; the story of the beavers.

I had always enjoying hearing the tales of beavers who, even after their dam had been completed, just kept cutting down trees, mowing down entire forests in their quests to keep building. Maybe the beavers thought they'd never finish, and by the time they finally did, cutting trees was the only thing they knew how to do. It just made sense to me.

My story became a lot like that of the beavers.

I had all started off simple; stealing the little crumbs that society left behind because I had no other choice.

Then my heists steadily became riskier, bolder. Now I steal things for one reason and one reason only; because I want to.

You have to realize that this all started out innocent enough. I was young and living on the streets with nothing but my wits to keep me company. A kid has got to eat to live right? To satisfy my basic needs, I would steal from the local markets and shops. It wasn't a noble life, but I survived.

But then you get that feeling; an adrenaline rush that you can feel surging through your veins. You feel like you're a king when you get away with something. And then you realize that what you do is beautiful. You can be creative. You learn the tips and tricks, all the ins and outs to this little game. You realize that what you do is more than just thievery, it's an art.

One time I walked right out of the front door of a bakery carrying armloads of pastries, delicacies reserved for the rich. And to put the icing on the cake, no pun intended, I even got the baker himself to hold the door open for me.

I have lived many lives; working as a thief, a pickpocket, a con man. I've infiltrated homes. I've slipped wads of money right out of people's pockets. I've broken into people's heads and convinced them to practically give me their goods. Now that's what I call a fun time!

So that's my story. I started off scrounging for scraps out in the streets, but ended up with a fulltime job. I just can't get enough of that feeling, and I just want more. I can't say I'm proud of the life I live, but I am proud of the work I do.

You probably ask yourselves, when does this stop? Well, the answer is really quite simple. It stops when I have every damn thing the universe owes me.

**Author's Note (1/2/2015):**

**Hey guys! I was just wondering if any of you guys would like to see a full-fledged series born out of this one. Let me know in the comments!**


	6. Prison Break (Spider Jockey)

**_Grimm the Spider Jockey in..._**

**Chapter 6: Prison Break**

Little known to the inhabitants of the surface world, The Bedrock is a subterranean prison where the worst of the creatures of the night are sent for crimes against their fellows. It is a razor barbed warren full of cannibalistic undead, treacherous creepers and psychopathic arachnids. In this dim labyrinth of caverns, patrolled and guarded by the most merciless of monsters, only the vicious survive.

There is no such thing as harmony among the inmates of the Bedrock. By bite, or claw, or pincer, or fang, even the slightest sign of weakness means a swift and bloody death. In hushed whispers they say that the Jockey was just a young lad working away in the fields, pitched into the Bedrock for crimes unknown.

He was swiftly tossed into one of the lower level cells, his new cellmate turning out to be a fierce spider. The second the guards shut the door to his cell and turned their backs on him, he was swept up by the massive arachnid looking for take-out. But the young boy had a better idea, and wriggled his way from his captor's grip and onto the beast's back, hacking it down with his own bare hands. Hours later, he emerged from the bloody wreckage, intoxicated by the thrill of flight. The boy had found his calling.

The boy grew, spending half a lifetime without kin or kindness, trusting no one, barely surviving through a combination of stealth and ruthlessness. The years went on, but his fire only grew stronger.

Finally he found himself with a new inmate, another spider.

After convincing the arachnid not to immediately eat him, the Jockey set about carefully training alongside his inmate, preparing their escape. They remained in Bedrock for many years before they were finally ready.

Drunk on liquid courage, the duo flew into an unstoppable berserker rage, destroying the cell bars and exploding through walls and guards alike. They spent hours navigating through the tangled network of caverns, soon finding themselves lost in a forest with a trail of wreckage left behind in their wake and no signs of pursuit. Finally tasting freedom, the arachnid seemed serene and even eager.

Resolving to work together, the pair set off to enjoy their freedom alongside one another, taking on the world together.


	7. Bounty Hunter (Skeleton)

**_Tara the Skeleton in..._**

**Chapter 7: Bounty Hunter**

Tara weaved her way carefully among the dense reeds, treading oh-so-carefully as she sneaked her towards the edge of the pond. The heavy stench of rotting, damp vegetation, released afresh with every careful placement of her boot. Of course the smell didn't bother her; she didn't have any nostrils after all. Wanting to avoid making any unnecessary noise, she moved slowly. The tall grasses paid her no heed and made no sound.

Her quarry remained oblivious.

She had lost sight of him for several moments and had no choice but to duck into a clump of taller reeds. She felt a cattail tangle into her quiver, but, moving slow enough to turn time itself backwards, she untangled herself and continued onwards. She was as silent as the dead, yet just as lethal as a prowling beast.

As part of her extensive training in the academy, she had learned to ignore the sounds around her that were nothing but background. Off in the distance a hen scratched at the ground, the wind whistled through the reeds and water gently lapped against the shore but Tara blocked it all out. She glanced around, and seeing no threats, moved on.

The rippling water of the pond soon came into view again, but much to Tara's disdain, she realized that her target had wandered off. He had made no effort to cover his tracks and Tara could spot imprints in the muddy bank with ease.

She shook her head in disapproval; her quarry had trampled recklessly through the reeds, clearly marking out his path in the vegetation. Nevertheless, she forced herself to remember that she hadn't been sent to kill an amateur. Her quarry had a reputation as notorious as he was vicious.

Tara turned back in time to see something, or rather, someone, brush against the reeds a mere ten paces away. She could make out footsteps, heavy boots squishing the pond mud, and then a slight, stifled chuckle.

Suddenly, before Tara could react, her target burst out from the reeds shouting a ferocious war cry. In only took the glint of steel standing out in the darkness of the night, for Tara to realize that her assailant was armed.

Out of pure instinct, Tara spun around; fist balled, and lashed out at her target. Her assailant however was ready. Or, perhaps, Tara was too slow. Her opponent dodged around the strike and shoved her with both hands. Tara staggered awkwardly swinging her arms out for balance, but there was nothing for her to grab. She fell into the mud, cringing as her head spun.

The man approached her, a long curved knife in hand, with a wolf like grin creeping onto his face. With barely a thought, Tara removed one of her ribs and brought it down onto her assailant's foot. The improvised weapon pierced through his boot and into the ground.

The man screamed out in agony, letting his knife drop to the side. Tara took the opportunity to plant a swift kick into his chest. As the man stumbled backwards from force of the blow, Tara had already raised her bow, arrow nocked, the string already drawn by the time she had the tip of the arrow trained on her assailant, who now lay in a crumpled heap before her.

The bow twanged with a ringing familiarity, the arrow whistling away like an eager hound across the open space. Letting her bow arm lower, Tara watched expectantly as the arrow sunk into her assailant's skull with a satisfying thwack.

Tara slung the bow over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth curling upwards in a cruel smirk. Admittedly, she had done a rather sloppy job. Nevertheless her quarry was dead; all that remained was to collect her reward.

She had garnered quite a reputation as of late, and as a result plenty of work. Her work varied from common hits to assassination, whatever paid well. But in whispered voices her enemies denounce her as one of the most cold-hearted, merciless bounty hunters to ever set foot in the realm; a grim fable with an unhappy ending. For the right price, the hunted know all too well that they will be found. They know that for the right price, even the mightiest will find fear in their shadows.


	8. Turning the Tables (Squid)

**_General Ood the Squid in..._**

**Chapter 8: Turning the Tables**

It had always been this way for my kind. Before, it had only been a flicker of an idea; a promise of the greatness due to us in a few thousand years as evolution ran its course. But one little mistake by the land-dwellers, one fantastic, colorful explosion, had brought it all to fruition in an instant.

For far too long those selfish imbeciles had poisoned our waters with their chemicals, horribly deforming our kind. They've eradicated our homes, erecting hideous structures in their place. They've stolen our families from us; kidnapping our children to keep as pets and stealing us away right from our very own homes for food. For years, the land-dwellers performed unforgivable acts against our kind. It was unbearable, but there had been nothing we could do but accept it.

As of now, all that will change. Today will be the glorious beginning to our revolution! No longer will we be tossed to the side and trampled over! We had built machines that rivaled theirs, it took us many long years but we finally did it - we will be able to storm their beaches as an indestructible force, and they will bow to our whims.

I braced myself as I lurched my way onto the shore, in what was essentially a water-filled bubble with robotic legs. Thousand of identical contraptions joined me as we marched our way towards the city. They stared at us in horror, screaming as they hid their children away. But that wouldn't stop us.

I made my way to the town square, obliterating the few humans who attempted to block me with high powered laser weaponry that put their flint headed arrows to shame. I positioned myself in the dead center of the plaza and set the machine to amplify my voice; I wanted them all to hear me.

"Attention, humans! The day has come to finally put your kind in your place! We have technology that puts yours to shame, and an army that is all but interminable! You have been reckless with the gift of knowledge bestowed upon you, trampling nature without care, leaving those below you to be left for dead. But now it is out turn; to wipe out your measly existence in one mighty blow!"


	9. Enirb'Oreh (Witch)

**_Helena the Witch in..._**

**Chapter 9: Enirb'Oreh**

Helena had not lived that long of a life. It had been less than a week since she had turned nineteen, and yet she could not shake the unfortunate feeling of dread that her short life was nearing its end.

The world around her had been completely torn apart by stray magic to the point where it was unrecognizable; at which point; it was then torn asunder again and again until one would believe that the creatures of the deep had clawed their way out of the depths in a fury reserved for the gods.

The people she had risen to defend were all likely dead. Her sisters in arms had been lost in the desolation of the battle scarred terrain around the young witch. Her body and mind were drained. Helena would have sworn that her body was slowly being torn apart; atom by atom. However, this only served to fuel the young witch with more anger; and more power.

"Do not underestimate your powers, Helena," her master had warned, "Magic is an unpredictable force. As easily as you can summon it to do your bidding, it can control you."

Helena heard her master's teachings as she faced the monster she had brought into the world.

"Enirb'Oreh, why do you not bow before me? As your summoner and your master, I command you to stop!" she ordered with all the authority she could muster.

The fallen angel, enraged by her command, turned to face the witch.

"You fool!" he replied with a deep rumbling voice, "I am Enirb'Oreh! I am of the earth, and the fire, and the water and the wind! I am both, the creator and the destroyer! What authority do you wield over me?"

"I am a witch," she shouted, the innate magic within her amplifying her voice, "I brought you into my world! I brought the four elements together and shed blood to bring you into existence! I created you, and if I must, I can unmake you!"

Very well witch," Enirb'Oreh spat, as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth. "Do your worst."

Helena, tapping into her little remaining strength, conjured a ball of pure energy in her hands. The spell required no incantation nor catalyst, for the energy did not need to take on a form. This was magic in its purest form; drawn from her own life source.

"Very well, you've left me no choice." She sighed as she poured whatever energy she had to spare into the spell. "It did not need to end this way, we could've lived alongside one another. You could've followed me home."

"I was born from the world itself," he roared, his voice heavy with rage. "This is my home, and I do not intend to rest until it is reclaimed!"

"So be it," she snarled, raising the glowing ball of flashing teal energy above her head. She put everything she had left into the energy ball and flung it with as much force as she could muster; aiming the projectile directly at the fallen angel's chest.

It struck dead on. A dark cloud of smoke and dust billowed forth from the impact, but Enirb'Oreh did not fall. Instead, a rumbling laugh echoed across the flame-scorched battleground.

The fallen angel lunged forward, summoning a blade into his hand. Helena barely dodged the attack, and was knocked off of her feet. She groaned in pain from the impact.

"Pathetic!" he roared, approaching the dazed witch. "To think, a weakling like you managed to bring forth a being as magnificent as I?" He laughed harshly as he raised the sword high above his head.

With a faint flick of the hand, she had summoned a force field to enclose her. The sword cut through air towards her, but miraculously, Helena had just enough energy to parry the blow. The blade shattered in the fallen angel's hands and Enirb'Oreh stumbled backwards in disbelief. He had not expected any more resistance from the witch.

"You cannot remain in my world, I won't allow it!" She shouted, finding the energy in her to conjure a second ball of energy in her hands. "I created you, and I am responsible to restore balance by killing you!"

She flung the ball, this time striking him in the head. Immediately, the fallen angel began to split apart into his component elements. His feet hardened into clay, preventing him from running away. Water leaked from the cracks that appeared in his skin and then a great flame burst forth from his chest, engulfing him. Finally, his ashes were scattered by a gust of wind.

Helena, exhausted from exerting so much magic at once, collapsed onto the ground.

"Well, there's that settled." She muttered under her breath.

"Now where's the other one?"


	10. In the Jungle (Ocelot)

**_Castella the Ocelot_****in...**

**Chapter 10: In the Jungle... **

The sun had just started to peer over the canopy, spreading its sunrays over the sleeping world. It was always, without fail, the first thing to pierce the darkness, carrying with it the torch of a new day.

As the sun rose higher into the morning sky it began to awake the jungle, slowly and efficiently. Yet despite the warm glow the sun cast onto its inhabitants, the serene peace of the jungle would soon come to an end.

A morning breeze coursed through the jungle making the vines and leaves dance with rhythm and finesse as though they were experts. The lush ceiba trees stood tall and firm as if the roots were clinging onto the earth for their very lives.

It was not long before the wolves, fierce predators of the jungles, howled to make their presence known after awakening from their pleasant slumber. The ocelots however, refused to announce their presence not only because of their conventionally shy nature but to also stay under the radar so they could catch their morning meals with ease.

Ocelots, as a general rule, were not meant to be chasers; so Castella had to rely on stalking her prey. She lay flat on her stomach, observing the waterhole where her prey was known to gather, from a safe distance. Hours passed by, and the ocelot's patience was tested as it staked out the clearing from the measly cover provided by a patch of low-lying shrubbery. Finally, just as she was about leave in the hopes of finding better hunting grounds, her patience was rewarded.

Wary at first, a hen emerged from the undergrowth and cautiously stepped out into the clearing. The bird was a pathetic sight, a wiry figure whose feathers seemed to be dangerously close to blowing away in faint the breeze. It was all the same to Castella.

The ocelot licked her lips eagerly. It wasn't just the idea of finally satisfying her hunger that excited her; it was the thrill of the hunt. She let the hen lull itself into a false sense of security, fervently waiting for her prey to lower its guard.

Castella tensed her muscles and grated the ground with their hind legs, never daring to take her eyes off the hen. She wriggled her tail vigorously to attain balance and prepared to pounce onto her unsuspecting pre-

"Alright boys, let's get to work!"

The booming cry echoed through the jungle; followed swiftly by the cacophonous sound of dull rhythmic thuds. The hen, startled by the sudden noise, darted off back into the undergrowth, disappearing almost as suddenly as it had arrived.

Castella hissed in frustration, pouncing belatedly onto the spot where her meal had stood only moments earlier. There was no point in pursuing the hen, by now it was likely long gone, frightened off by the noise.

She was still disgruntled by the loss of an easy meal, but curiosity overtook her instincts. The booming clamor that echoed through the jungle, drowning out the sounds of nature, seemed to beckon to her. So Castella, setting her hunger to the side, set out to find the source of the noise. Who knows? Maybe she'd be able to grab a bite to eat along the way.


	11. For the Colony (Silverfish)

**_Commandant Harrison the Silverfish in..._**

**Chapter 11: For the Colony**

Ten brave soldiers had set out into the hostile realm outside the hive, leaving behind the safety of the colony on that cold autumn evening. Ten of the Brood Mother's finest rangers had trekked across the desolate landscape of sand and clay.

They marched forth in a single file; walking along the grooves that crisscrossed the arid terrain, with Commandant Harrison at the head of the legion. He was an old and grizzled figure, his carapace covered in the scars marked over the course of a dozen wars. His first scar had been earned in the bloody battle against the rival Grey Gorge horde, where he had slaughtered over three dozen opponents in combat and watched haplessly as dozens of his brothers were lost to the invaders. He had served as the Head Ranger for nearly a decade now, the longest serving in living memory. Perhaps the luckiest Head Ranger in living memory too; this was not a job silverfish had the leisure of growing old in.

Further ahead, at the head of the column, was the Baron Fermi, boldly cutting a path through the barren wastes. It was far from difficult to avoid getting lost in a region that fell flatter than the horizon. Ahead, Fermi stopped, and clambered up onto one of the red clay boulders that dotted the landscape.

"We're almost there now, I'm sure of it." The Baron mumbled as Harrison climbed up after him.

"We should have arrived there over an hour ago." Harrison muttered in reply as he looked out across the waste. The stronghold rose from the sands, cozily nestled within the mighty Mesa Mountain range. It was off to the right, as it had always been. "We must be going the wrong way."

"That can't be right. I've been following the trail..." The Baron mumbled, shaking his head in confusion.

Harrison carefully made his way back down from the tanned clay lump and strode to the front of the column. He started to sniff, desperately searching for the pheromones that had guided their kind across the wastes for generations; laid down by the Pathfinders that had passed through the land before them. Oh great! Leaving the safety of the colony was dangerous enough on its own, but to venture out without a trail to follow? Harrison left that job to the poor suckers unfortunate enough to be chosen for it. His place was on the trail.

"We're following the wrong scent. I think this one takes us out into the Savanna. Unless you want to walk right out into the sweltering heat, I suggest we turn right."

Fermi said nothing, facing the failure with an uncharacteristic silence. Harrison took the lead from his younger counterpart, and they turned right towards the market place.

Half an hour of trekking later, the ragged column reached the base of the massive cobblestone stronghold, and prepared for the climb. The Giants who ruled over the domain were fond of shaping these straight, vertical surfaces, and many of his kind had fallen to his death on them. Perhaps that was what had happened to the missing patrol? No, that simply couldn't be right. The excursion had been lead by some of the greatest climbers he had ever had the fortune to know. They couldn't have fallen.

One by one, the rangers began the perilous climb. The height was almost dizzying. Harrison had faced down venomous spiders, acid-spitting creatures from the East, even hordes of the undead; but only this truly frightened him. He clung onto wall with his very life, hanging in the breeze, waiting for the slightest misstep or tremor that would send him falling to his doom. One foot placed in front of the next, inch by inch, they crept up towards the market.

As they neared the summit, a strong breeze burst from behind them. Harrison turned around, and his eyes widened in terror as he saw a huge shape approaching.

"Yield!" He yelled, but his cry met empty ears. The Giant, oblivious to the ranger's pleas, pressed the palm of his massive hand against the wall. The tremors rattled the climbers. One had a foot in the air when the Giant struck and fell into the open air. The Ranger flew past Harrison, his mouth frozen open with a look of raw terror. He shrank smaller and smaller, until he eventually disappeared far below. A wave of fear shuddered through Harrison, but he forced himself to continue onwards. If he froze now, all of his men would die a cruel death. He forced himself to take a step. And then another. And then another.

The legion soon reached a small lip that ran all the way around the ragged surface. Ajax, a hulking beast of a ranger, forced open the entrance to the small chamber just enough for the rest of the legion to climb through. They scuttled along eagerly into the dark.

Inside, Harrison could smell the rich aroma of exotic foods. This must be where the Giants stored the supplies to sustain their troops. They, after all, required tons of sustenance to fuel themselves and often left behind plenty to feed an entire colony. The heavenly pile of food lay in front of them.

Harrison probed into the darkness with his antenna, looking, straining. He brushed up against an eerily familiar shape; a carapace. He could hardly believe what he had discovered as he thoroughly analyzed the corpse. He heard the other rangers cry out in terror, one by one, as they found the rest of the decaying carapaces. An entire platoon of seventeen men lay dead with looks of terror frozen on their faces.

"We should bury them; have a proper memorial." Baron Fermi sighed, having finally found his tongue at last. Around their two leaders, the rangers were solemnly gathering up the bodies.

"Where exactly do you propose we bury them?" Harrison spat, his voiced laced with annoyance.

"Back at the colony, even in death a silverfish must serve."

"We don't have the time or the manpower to bring them all back. Something killed these silverfish, and I don't want to stick around to find out what it was. Not a single one of these rangers had a broken carapace. It looks like they were slaughtered in their sleep. Maybe they had painless death?"

"The looks on their faces say otherwise," The Baron said, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Except for the faces." Harrison agreed.

"Sire!" one of the rangers called out, scurrying as fast as he could towards them. Harrison turned and recognized one of his sergeants approaching. "We've counted them all, every single body. There are only sixteen corpses here. Their leader was not among them."

A flutter of hope flickered through Harrison's soul. "He may yet be alive. We shall continue onwards, towards the market place. I believe that was where they had said they were off to."

From the little hidey hole in the side of the massive palisade, there was only a short distance to cross in order to reach the summit, which Harrison was grateful for. It was beginning to get dark. Hopefully they would be safe from the Giant now.

Eventually, the squadron had reached the peak of the highest guard tower. The rangers spread out, searching for any sign of the missing silverfish.

After an extensive search, they found him cowering under a heap of faded blue canvas. He lay next to a small leaflet of paper. He smiled sadly when he saw Harrison and his men approach him.

"Sir," he said weakly "I broke my promise and for that I apologize."

"What promise?"

"I swore we'd find food for the colony. Tonight, we found only death."

Harrison curled next to the blabbering ranger. He didn't look injured at all, but death lay behind his eyes all the same.

"What happened? Why didn't you return?"

The silverfish coughed violently. "A cloud of death came from above; it seeped into our lungs. Most of my men were killed within seconds. There was nothing we could have done. I've seen this before, Harrison. Remember the Gravel beaches?"

The very name of the colony sparked dread in Harrison's heart.

"You don't mean..."

"The Doom…" he coughed again, his whole body shuddering violently.

"How can you be sure? That was years ago."

"If you'd seen the things I've seen, you wouldn't be able to forget them either." He feebly gestured to the paper with his antennae. "Have you ever learned to read the Giant's runes?"

Harrison shook his head. He was a soldier after all, not a linguist.

"It says EXTERMINATOR. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"No."

"It means death, Harrison. Death for our kind."


	12. A Hero Rises (Bat)

**_Darkwing the Bat in..._**

**Chapter 12: A Hero Rises**

The world was no longer safe for our kind. Our lives were a constant turmoil of raw fear. Children lost in the dark were never expected return at daylight. Even to leave our own homes was to put our very lives at great risk. We dreaded the shadows, for they housed our greatest enemies.

There was a time when we had lived in blissful peace, savaging the tall grass and gnarled roots for scraps. We were neither strong nor dignified creatures, but nevertheless we survived. Us Rodents were weak, but many in numbers.

Recently, in a desperate attempt to forage food, we had made excursions into the mysterious structures. They were massive, with walls that stretched taller than most trees. We found openings, tiny faults in the massive structures, whenever we could, penetrating their mighty fortresses.

Inside we found the Giants; terrible behemoths that shook the very ground with their steps. Their strength was fascinating; capable of displacing entire mountains with a simple slight of the hand. Though they were beyond massive, they were horribly dumb. Our kind moved easily around them, weaving through the walls, and behind their massive statures.

Why risk all this danger, you ask? Inside these towering statues we could find subsistence. Food beyond our wildest imaginings piled up to the heavens above. This is the kind of discovery our scouts risk everything to find. Stockpiles like this can save our kind from elimination by the predators of the wild.

But with the discovery of the great treasure, we had found new enemies here in the mighty fortresses. They were terrible creatures; glowing eyes, silent, razor sharp teeth and claws, and as agile as the shadows; the feline.

They took a sadistic delight in stalking us. They maimed our scouts without a single care. They have even given the corpses of Rodents as trophies to the Giants. Inside the fortresses lay a cruel, unforgiving world. The feline soon became our greatest enemies.

It was not long before the Giants came after our kind as well. They ventured out of their fortresses and forced us from our very homes. They brought poisons that suffocated even the strongest of our kind. They maintained an iron grip over our nests, controlling us with smoke and cutting off our food sources.

But there are rumors whispered by the scouts of our ranks. They say there is a great hero who keeps watch over us; striking fear into the hearts of both the Giants and feline. They hide high above all, even above the Giant's reach!

They're as black as the night, and possess shrieks that pierce the very air. We have seen Giant's flee in their presence and the felines hiss and bare their teeth in dread.

But they do not threaten the rest of us Rodents; in fact they almost appear to be one of us! They are of our size, our face, our skin. But with wings! They soar far above us all, only swooping down to claim their prey in deathly silence.

We had sent an envoy in hopes of finding these dark heroes. Maybe an agreement could be reached.

But for now, Rodents have more hope than ever before.


	13. The Disappearing Act (Rabbit)

**_Buggsy the Rabbit in..._**

**Chapter 13: The Disappearing Act**

The heavy bags were clear under his eyes, remnants of an act repeated thousands of times over the course of nine years. What was once his passion was now his poison, slowly killing him from the inside. He couldn't help but remember a more prosperous time for magic, a time when the audience did not know the ins and outs of every trick. A magician never revealed his secrets, or so the oath went.

Too bad the audience was never bound by any oath.

The rabbit, now thirteen years of age, with white tufts of fur beginning to gray and pink eyes turning black, was all too familiar with the confinement of that dark, musty prison. The magician's sweat polluted the little sense of smell that the veteran rabbit had left. It wasn't like the rabbit planned to play his part any differently this time, but like there was for any slave, there was always a breaking point. The rabbit hid under the trap door below the hat, the rabbit remained silent, the rabbit contorted its wiry frame, the rabbit did all the work, yet the rabbit got none of the credit.

"Voila"

The rabbit was violently pulled by his scrawny neck out of the chamber and dangled pathetically in front of the underwhelmed crowd like an inanimate stuffed animal. This time, he decided, things would be different. Before his captor could react, the rabbit leapt from the tight grasp of the magician and jumped on to the lever. The magician fell through the trap door that was to be used for a seperate act, leaving the rabbit alone on stage for the first time in a decade. The crowd burst in to applause at the new take on an old trick; not only did a rabbit appear, but a magician disappeared. Right then, the rabbit glanced one last time at the worn black hat before hopping away; leaving behind the only home he ever knew forever.


	14. The Shapeshifter (Slime)

**_Muto the Slime in..._**

**Chapter 14: The Shapeshifter**

The swamp was devilishly humid with a miasma of overly-saturated must and rotting flora hanging thickly in the air. The disembodied snarls and hisses of the swamp's hidden wildlife mingled with the slow, gentle splash of the boats' oars. Every now and then a floating log would be pulled beneath the murky surface by some unknown creature. Despite the unfavorable conditions; the two heroes pressed on.

"Let me guess, you have no idea what you're looking for."

"I don't know; you've heard the legends, Oswald. Just keep an eye out for some sort of… creature."

"This is Muto we're looking for you fool! This isn't just 'some creature'; we're dealing with a being as old as time itself!"

"We've been searching for hours! Are you certain this is even the right place?"

"Don't doubt me, Linnaeus. The legends foretold that the comet would strike this very spot on the eve of a great war."

After following the map south for a further thirty minutes, the duo came across an island in the middle of the swamp, which they had decided was the place they had been seeking. The two of them got out and began to set up camp; clearing out a large swath of ground to set up a heavy, canvas tent.

Then, it happened.

For dark eons the comet had circled aimlessly. Held in thrall by a distant sun, bound by gravity's inexorable pull, the massive ball of sludge had careened through the empty void between worlds, made strange by its dark journey. Finally, its perilous voyage was coming to an end. The falling star punched through the dark and ominous sky, lighting a glowing trail across the night, a sign which the duo took as an omen.

"Wow!" Linnaeus murmured in awe.

"It's beautiful!" Oswald stammered in agreement.

"Uh… I think it's coming straight for us!"

"Well gr-"

The ball of hardened sludge melted in a flash of boiling heat as it neared the ground, knocking the duo off of their feet.

Linnaeus awoke the next day to the sound of frantic screaming. As he sat up with a start, he noticed that his companion had a bow in hand, aiming it in the direction of the murky water. He followed his partner's petrified gaze.

Slowly, a figure was rising from the marsh. It moved erratically, swaying from side to side, constantly morphing into anything the creature located within the vicinity. One moment, a tree; the next, a rock. The being was a canvas of constant change.

Then, without any warning, it attacked; sending a column of pale green sludge hurtling towards Oswald. The blow propelled him backwards, sending him crashing into their campsite.

Linnaeus was holding his head, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding around him. Gathering his strength, he flung himself at the creature, striking it on the chest. It let out a screeching cry of pain before retaliating with another column of slime.

When Linnaeus recomposed himself once more, he rose to face his opponent, yet all he found was… himself. A flickering mirage of green, a perfect replica, stared back intently. Ripples of movement surged across the creature's skin as it faced Linnaeus. If it weren't for the creature's light green hue, the two would've been indifferentiable. Even the chip in Linnaeus' tooth was present.

He did not have time to react as with his own speed and strength, the creature smashed him in the head with a discarded log, dropping him to the ground. Linnaeus desperately tried to pull back in time to prevent himself from being crippled, but was struck once and fell out of his senses.

Oswald, having finally recovered from the impact, watched the scene from afar. He remained powerless to intervene his friend's slaughter. Sighing to himself, he disappeared into the night, hoping the monster would not follow.


	15. Mistress of Ice (Snow Golem)

**_Lyrai the Snow Golem_****in...**

**Chapter 15: Mistress of Ice**

Born in a temperate forest biome, raised alongside her bulky older brother Bruno, Lyrai the snow golem soon found that her innate elemental affinity to handle ice had the tendency to create trouble for all those around her.

Unlike her older brother, who was tasked with guarding the townsfolk, Lyrai was not bound by any responsibilities. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but feel as if she messed everything up.

She had been summoned to bring happiness to her creators, spreading patches of snow in order to bring joy to the younger townsfolk. But soon they began to bore of her trails of snow, and then their boredom turned to annoyance.

Lakes and mountain rivers froze in moments if she stopped to rest nearby; ripening crops were bitten by the harsh frost, and fruiting orchards were transformed into mazes of ice and came crashing down in her wake spoiled.

When the exasperated townsfolk could no longer afford to care for their golem citizens, Lyrai was among the first to go.

While her brother was packed off to work for a different town, Lyrai found herself banished to the cold reaches of the taiga which lay to the north.

There, she was taken in by a clan of elite snow golems who had carved themselves a collection of hermitages at the crown of the glacier. They trained her, teaching her to harness the magical affinity that lie within the beings of their proud race.

After a long study, the clan had pronounced her ready for solitary practice and sent her off into the frozen wastes to start a clan of her own. Although this was the second time she had been sent away from the ones she loved, she faced the frozen wastes proud and full of purpose.

She spent years exploring the world, gathering a strong and loyal following which only grew with every town she passed. Yet her life was incomplete; it would never be until she was reunited with her brother.

Her mastery of the frozen arts had only deepened since that time, and now her skills are unmatched. With great ease, Lyrai could call forth mighty blizzards in a pinch and entrap her enemies in an icy tomb.

This is Lyrai, Mistress of the Ice.


	16. Into the Fire (Blaze)

**_Prometheus the Blaze in..._**

**Chapter 16: Into the Fire**

His eyelids felt heavy as he stared at the small, controlled flame that rose and fell hypnotically in his palm. Physically, the man was exhausted, but tonight his mind racing.

Ever since he was a kid, fire had always had a special place in the man's heart. When controlled, it could be friendly and useful. When unconstrained, it was beautifully chaotic. He had always preferred the unpredictable side of an untamed fire.

Of course with the right knowledge, you could tell for certain whether any given campfire would meekly peter out into a pathetic sizzle or spread into a mighty brushfire, but to measure the angles of a single flame in motion, swaying in the breeze was beyond his human limitations. To put into mere words and numbers the way the flame moved with magnificence and grace in a flicker of hot blues, reds and yellows, a painting in motion so impossibly hot that your vision blurs and your retinas sear; impossible.

The way it so easily could destroy and engulf anything in its path yet still remain so deceivingly stunning sent a rush of adrenaline through the man. Now, he could be the maker of this beautifully destructive force.

Merely thinking about the deadly grace of fire sent the flame in his hand rising two or three feet above his hand and nearing dangerously close to the wall that the man was leaning against. The orange slice of flame slithered upward from his open palm like oily smoke; thick, intangible, deadly and beautiful. His eyes glowed orange with the reflection of the flickering flame.

But soon he grew bored of making the fires dance for him.

He wished to see the world burn.


	17. The Great Artisans (Ender Dragon)

**_Ryades the Ender Dragon in..._**

**Chapter 17: The Great Artisans**

It wasn't supposed to end like this…

I've always found it perplexing how easily history has painted my kind to be villains; always made out to be the evil serpents coiling around stolen hordes of gold and loot. It was always remembered as the 'epic battles of knights in shining armor fending off against vicious beasts with nothing more than bits of metal and their wits'. All lies.

Things were never as they were seen in fairy tales, never like the stories foretold.

Greed…

It always came down to greed with the humans. It's funny that they painted dragons as covetous and close-fisted when the humans ran a permanent gambit for more...more...more.

We never stole from the humans, we were the creators. We took only from the earth and built from the beauty we saw. When we came to this world it was new and flat; a blank canvas awaiting artists to help bring out what was waiting just beneath the surface. We raised mountains that would stand for generations and caves that would take generations to be explored. We saw all the precious ores; the diamonds, the iron, the gold as little more than another part of the earth. To our wise and ancient race, they were as equal as the dirt and the air.

Gold and jewels were merely tools for my kind, far from precious. Yet for reasons that remain incomprehensible, for humanity it was so much more. At first we were happy to share our wealth with what we deemed to be insignificant creatures. We did share the same world after all. We felt pity for the small, fleshy creatures that saw the world they had helped to craft as nothing more than something to be exploited. In a momentary fault of my great race's wisdom, we allowed the humans to push back on us and ask for more.

We saw humanity as merely a child trying to see how far it could push its limits, how much it could take. But like any child who threw a tantrum and wasn't reprimanded they learned they could get away with it without consequence. My races' wisdom was outshone only by our naivety. "Just a little bit more" we would say. "They are only trying to explore the world". Excuses soon flew faster than us dragons.

And so my kind fell...

And with our fall came the stories of 'brave' humans who rose up against the beasts of avarice to take what was 'rightfully theirs'. And with their fall, I felt myself shatter. Not because I realized that humanity would never learn from its lesson, or because humanity had not only bitten the hand of the very creatures that desired to guide and teach them but crushed it.

But because I realized that we, the true artists of this world, the dragons, would never return to our great strength. And that all the natural beauty – the bends in the stream, the depths of the oceans, and the rolling hills of green – were merely a shadow of an unfinished masterpiece.

Humanity will pay, I will make them pay.


	18. Experiment 0202 (Creeper)

**_Boomstick the Creeper in..._**

**Chapter 18: Experiment #0202**

Forced Autothysis Experiment #0202 – Boomstick

Perpetual Science Enrichment Facility

Upper Michigan, USA

12/26/3036

Begin Audio Log

...

**Dr. Collier:**Is the subject finally asleep?

**Dr. Freud:**Yes. It took several tranquilizers before settling down; but I believe it should be incapacitated for the next few hours.

**Dr. Collier:**Excellent. Now please enlighten me; what exactly is it that I'm looking at?

**Dr. Freud:**Before we begin, are you familiar with the nature of the experiments we conduct in this facility.

**Dr. Collier:**Of course, sir. I myself was one of the leading backers behind your bone-regeneration experiments. If I recall, your facility is renowned for its scientific breakthroughs in the field of genetic engineering.

**Dr. Freud: **Precisely! I believe you have also been entrusted with the secrets of Project 'M'?

**Dr. Collier:**Correct. And I must add I am quite fascinated with the premise.

**Dr. Freud:**Glad to hear. Although the concept of using the manipulation of genetics to further advance the progress of biological weapons is far from new; it has never been perfected to such an extent. In the past, biological weapons have been designed to spread disease among enemy troops though the introduction of microorganisms such as viruses and bacteria. Project 'M' will revolutionize all that. Project 'M' will introduce an entire new line of super-soldiers which will replace the need for human soldiers. No longer shall wars be fought at the expense of millions upon millions of human lives.

**Dr. Collier:**Doctor, I have been informed that the creatures your team has created are, as of yet, far from practical for military purposes, never mind replacing human soldiers. The products of project 'Pyromaniac'; incapable of surviving contact with water. The products of project 'Lazarus'; incapable of surviving direct sunlight. The list goes on and on. Everything you have created so far simply presents too many flaws.

**Dr. Freud:** True… Until now…

**Dr. Collier:**What do you mean Doctor?

**Dr. Freud:**Well, it's the reason we needed you here so urgently. 'Boomstick' here is something special. It possesses advanced camouflage, is capable of employing stealth tactics, manipulates electricity and to top it all off, detonates on death; effectively removing any trace of evidence it leaves behind of its existence. What we've created is virtually perfect!

**Dr. Collier:**Fascinating. How exactly have you managed to achieve this?

**Dr. Freud:**Well it was a delicate balance between monitoring the creature's molecular levels and careful regulation while introducing the fungus; nothing too compli-

**Dr. Collier:**Hold on a second. Fungus; as in mushrooms?

**Dr. Freud:**Perhaps it would be simpler if I started from the beginning…

**Dr. Collier:**It would be appreciated.

**Dr. Freud:**Well, 'Boomstick' here is the product of a highly evolved organism that, prior to heavy mutation, was once something akin to the fungi genus Cordyceps. When a Cordyceps fungus attacks a host, the mycelium invades and eventually replaces the host tissue. It took us several years to coax the fungus into a symbiotic relationship with Experiment #0133, which used autothysis as a means of self-defense. The result; Experiment #0202

**Dr. Collier: **Autothysis?

**Dr. Freud:** It's the process where an organism destroys itself via an internal rupturing or explosion of an organ which ruptures the skin. It also happens to be the primary defense mechanism of 'Boomstick' over here. I thought this would be something you'd be familiar with, Doctor. Anyways, back to the fungus. Now rather than employing a poison, 'Boomstick' employs a method similar to the Australian bombardier beetle which produces hydroquinone and hydrogen peroxide in separate glands located next to each other, and upon discharging creates a sort of explosion of corrosive material to deter attackers. This, as you know, is a binary explosion; however the bombardier beetle doesn't actually create a fireball of destruction like our creation does. So in order to add a little kick to 'Boomstick's' detonation, we added in a pinch of sulfur.

**Dr. Collier:**This is astonishing! This, 'Boomstick', has the potential to change everything!

**Dr. Freud:**I'm glad you share my enthusiasm, Doctor; because this is only the beginning! Soon enough we'll have-

**Dr. Collier:**Doctor…

**Dr. Freud:**Yes?

**Dr. Collier:**It's gone…

**Dr. Freud:**What?! Shut down the facility! We cannot let this thing esca-

...

End Audio Log


	19. A Matter of Time (Enderman)

_**Trophonius the Enderman in...**_

**Chapter 19: A Matter of Time**

The lush forest Trophonius ambled through was dense enough to be closed and comforting, yet open enough to let cascades of sunlight show through the canopy and warm the clearing. The faint gurgle of running water could be heard from off in the distance, perhaps there was a stream nearby.

The lush greens and dark browns that encompassed him were lightened by the sunlight that peeked through the canopy above and bathed the plant and moss covered nature below. The light warm breeze sent the leaves dancing with a rhythm and elegance as though they were experts.

It was a truly enchanting place to be. Yet as much as Trophonius wished he could linger and admire the landscape, he forced himself to remember that he had a job to do.

He knelt on the soft layers of moss that carpeted the forest floor. It was dry and springy on his bare skin as he set to work.

Trophonius busied himself with the mundane task of grabbing handfuls of dirt and other organic matter, combining them to form a sizeable clump. He worked for hours, carefully sculpting a cube of soil until it was roughly the size of his own head.

With great effort, he lifted the solid cube of dirt and held it out in front of him. Trophonius took one last wistful look at the beautiful landscape and was struck by a pang of sadness.

The inhabitants of the lush and vibrant world were oblivious to the inevitable end, an end that his kind's destructive nature would be responsible for.

Suddenly, terrain around him disappeared. As if being pulled through the air by an unseen force, his vision was reduced to a blurry tunnel in front of him. Bright streaks of light had begun to consume his vision and time jumped forwards. Orgasmic explosions of color blinded his vision. An eternity seemed to pass by as Trophonius stared out, unblinking, at the images of flowering nebulae, fiery stars and barren asteroids that hurtled by.

Despite the hectic scenes that had engulfed him, Trophonius remained calm and composed. He had witnessed the vivid scenes plenty of times. They had always accompanied him whenever he tapped into the ancestral ability of his kind; time travel.

All of a sudden, it was over. The vivid sensations faded away, signifying a successful time warp.

The sensation of grass tickling his bare feet had been swiftly replaced with coarse ground carpeted with a fine powdery dust. The sky around him fell into darkness and took on a dark purple tinge. Trophonius looked at his surroundings with remorse.

He was home.

Trophonius carried the burden of his cube of dirt with great care and placed it alongside the others. Each cube, stacked on top of one on another to form a massive mound, had been brought back from the past by his kin.

It was all a fruitless attempt to restore their world to its former beauty, before they had worn it away to its core. It was a gradual effort, but his kin were determined to see it through.

Perhaps one day, life would return to the barren landscape. Perhaps his kind would receive a second chance.

Perhaps in time…


	20. To Be a Proper Steed (Horse)

**_Sir Benedict the Horse in..._**

**_Chapter 20: To Be a Proper Steed_**

"I'm never going to be a proper steed, am I?"

"Oh don't be so disheartened lad; there were four of against to one of you. You learned a valuable lesson all horses must learn, no steed outside of a proper legend is a match for four men. Next time I'd expect you to simply not fight, to flee even. There's no shame at all in picking your battles."

"Yes Sir Benedict, but I had to fight them, they left me no choice!"

"Is that so?"

"They claimed our legion was as weak as the pony that we wear on our shields, and as passive as the flowers it stands in. They said I would end up the same from your training. I just wanted to show them that you trained me fight well. I swear I could've taken each and every one of them in combat; they just got me by surprise!"

"Why exactly do you care of what those colts have to say?"

"They were from Sir. Lannister's legion. They wear the flaming skeletal horses of his house and claim any of them could take me with one hoof tied behind their backs! They refused to fight me honorably; not like any true steed would. Why a pony in the field though Sir? I know we are the toughest of all the legions, so why not choose a symbol that shows this? We could have a bull with a head on its impaled on its horn, or maybe a great serpent wrapped around a ship! I would wear that with pride!"

"Before I had earned my own house I fought briefly under Sir Wollemi, the-"

"Pack of wolves devouring a man? I am well aware! That definitely shows the strength and prowess of a true fighter."

"... Yes, the wolves eating a man... Whenever we entered a battle the enemy would see our emblem and would be smitten by fear. We would immediately be singled out as the most dangerous and would often take the heaviest arrow fire once combat began. During the battle of Five Plains we were slaughtered by their forces almost to our last man. Only I and one other survived.

When I earned my own title and house I decided on the pony frolicking in a field. Nobody ever feared me or my legion again, and all have paid gravely for that mistake. Me and those under my banner always take the least arrow fire, and always face the most brazen charges. When men fear you they tread warily, when they laugh at you they are reckless.

Today you may have lost because the odds far outweighed you, but in the future; men who think themselves to be honorable will put a hoof behind their back while you sheath your sword through their front."


	21. Spider Spawn (Cave Spider)

**_Anansi the Cave Spider in..._**

**Chapter 21: Spider Spawn**

Harmony is a forlorn concept among the creatures of the Toxic Wastes of the Far East. Whether it be by bite or claw, pincer or fang; even the slightest display of weakness will guarantee a swift and painful death. Yet even within this hostile menagerie, Anansi is acknowledged as the deadliest. Poison surges through her very veins and bubbles in her gut as she scuttles, climbs and swoops in between the fluorescent vines which drip with caustic tree sap.

For decades, Anansi had lurked withing dark network of caverns deep beneath the smoldering caldera of the Toxic Wastes, raising thousands of young spiderlings in safety before sending them off into the world above. They learned to fend for themselves, drawing from the potent venom which flowed through their veins to survive the harsh environment.

Of course, Anansi's great empire soon came to an end. In a later age, the humans laid siege to the caverns, attracted by the magnetic wealth that lay within the earth itself.

After millennia of maternal peace, Anansi found herself beset by a steady trickle of miners and prospectors; noble workers sent by the barons of their realm to lay their grubby little hands on whatever they found precious. All of them proved to be quite delicious, certainly, and yet they tended to create a less than nurturing home for her innocent offspring. Tiring of the constant stream of intrusions, Anansi paid a visit to the Miners Society; and when they proved to be unwilling to discuss a compromise, she ensnared the council within a gleaming tapestry of silk and set them aside to be the centerpiece of a special birthday feast.

Unfortunately, the absence of the imposing council merely emboldened a new generation of intruders. When one of her newborns was brutally murdered and trodden underfoot by a clumsy adventurer, she had finally reached the end of her delicate silken thread. Anansi headed straight for the surface, declaring her intent to rid the world of each and every possible invader, down to the last child if necessary. She vowed to never rest until she could ensure her nursery might once more be a safe and wholesome sanctuary for her precious spawn.


	22. Internal Conflict (Wither)

**_Cleft, Axis and Wright the Wither in..._**

**Chapter 22: Internal Conflict**

**"****Bold Speech" = Cleft (The Left Head)**

"Underlined Speech" = Axis (The Middle Head)

_"__Italicized Speech" = Wright (The Right Head)_

"So what exactly do we do with him?"

**"****I say we- STRIP THE FLESH!"**

_"__I don't know… he seems kind of nice. Maybe we should spare him?"_

"Wright, he's armed with a sword. I don't think he's here to make friends."

**"****SALT THE WOUND!"**

_"__I don't know… he did summon us and everything."_

"You and I both know how this will end."

_"__He could be different from the others! He may want to help us! Who knows, he may be the one who'll break the curse."_

**"****I'M JUST HERE TO SHANK AND SMILE!"**

"The humans are not to be trusted! It was a human who cast the curse and it will be a human that will be our undoing."

_"__You blame the humans Axis, but really it is no one's fault but our own. We stole the Nether Star, and for that we were rightfully punished."_

**"****MY MIND IS ON FIRE!"**

"The treasure was rightfully ours to begin with! It is nothing short of torture to be forced to watch our precious gift be stolen from us again and again!"

_"__We killed seven innocent men! We were criminals! You can't deny that!"_

"Criminals?! The humans are the ones whole stole the ancient gift bestowed upon us by our ancestors. The humans are undeserving of such an artifact. They can't even begin to comprehend its power!"

_"__Are we any more deserving than they are?"_

"They slaughtered our race without mercy. It was nothing short of a genocide! All this to get their hands on a single item, an item that was never theirs to begin with! How can a race so violent, so greedy, so petty be deserving of such power?"

**"****TICK TOCK TICK TOCK"**

_"__Cleft is right, time is running out. In a few seconds, the ritual will be complete. We need to make a decision, fast."_

"Is this any way to live? We've been reanimated countless times only to be struck down time after time again."

_"__It's our curse Axis."_

"You call it a curse, but I call it the perfect opportunity! We have been given a chance; a chance to protect the gift from the undeserving, from the ones who rained down chaos and misery onto our race!"

_"__I suppose you're right…"_

"They do not deserve our sympathy."

**"****KILL THE LITTLE MAN!"**

_"__Let's do this!"_

_**"**__**WHO DARE CHALLENGE THE WITHER!"**_


	23. Xenophobia (Guardian)

_**Numanji the Guardian in...**_

**Chapter 23: Xenophobia**

To the land dwellers, my kind has always sparked unwarranted fear. We were agile, frightening looking organic machines of death; with razor sharp quills lining our torsos and the ability to snipe our prey out of the water from miles away. The land dwellers could never truly understand why nature had created such fearsome creatures capable of such destruction. So being the highly xenophobic race that they were, they hunted and killed what they failed to understand.

It always amazed me to see how many people were happy to go to the beach once my kind was exterminated. Obviously the threat of such 'bloodthirsty predators' lurking beneath the depths of the surface was too frightening for the naïve land-dwellers, even though attacks from my kind were extremely rare and often accidental.

But of course the land dwellers were too foolish to realize that we alone did not rule the depths. In fact, compared to what they had just unleashed upon themselves, we guardians were extremely benign. They realized far too late that we guardians weren't just predators; we were prey.

Messing with the food chain always had consequences. Their scientists, strutting about in their lab coats, had considered this and decided that with our kind being apex predators; the effect wouldn't be bad at all. Oh how wrong they were.

The land dwellers spent decades hunting and designing better weapons to kill us with. They scoured the oceans in their wooden ships, celebrating as each temple was wiped off the map. Never before had the genocide of a species been so widely celebrated.

When all but my temple remained unscathed, humanity celebrated for days. Weeks passed in a blissful haze and eventually, life on the surface returned to normal. They didn't realize that they were in their twilight years.

By killing off my kind, they starved the true apex predators in the sea, so of course they moved on to a new food source. And what better prey than the huge flocks of humans attracted to the beaches now that what they thought was their only danger had been removed?

I, as well as the rest of my kind, had watched in horror upon the land dwellers' 'Day of Judgment'. I can remember the smell of the ocean air as a gentle breeze flowed down from the beaches. I can remember the sounds of the waves gently lapping against the shore and the laughter of children as they splashed about in the water. The scene would've been relaxing, if it was a sincere as it seemed.

Suddenly, a deep, resonant sound echoed through the beach. I could feel the sound rattle my bones. It was a primal sound, sending chills up my spine. The beach fell silent, the only noise stemming from the ocean. Then, the booming roar of raw power crashed upon us once more.

A few hundred feet from the beach, the ocean swelled directly upwards. The land dwellers began to panic, fleeing the beach in horror. The water had reached the apex of its upward surge and began to fall back to the surface. The water had hidden the rise of something and it was slowly being revealed to us.

A swarm of dark black tentacles breached the water's surface and wrapped around the end of a nearby sailboat, that horrible inhuman booming growing ever louder with each passing second. With immense effort, it pulled the end of the grand seafaring vessel underwater. Its passengers gripped onto the railing, terrified, trying their hardest not to slide down into the murky, irrecoverable depths of the sea. Those who fell did not resurface.

I sighed at the sight. Then again, the humans had brought it upon themselves.


	24. Just Your Average Sunday (Sheep)

**_Sheila the Sheep in.._**

**Chapter 24: Just Your Average Sunday**

"This is how we die: Not with a scream and a shout: But with a whimper." Sheila shook her head sadly as she witnessed the scene unfold in front of her.

As the sun began to set on another Sunday, the man donned a thick, plaid jacket and nocked an arrow on his drawstring. They all knew what this meant, one of them would be taken away to have their carcass fed upon.

A nervous tension fell upon them all as the man walk across the grassy paddock, soaked in the dew of the forthcoming night and in the fleeting light of the evening. He waded through the flock, searching for his next victim.

There was far less sheep then there had been when the farm was first established. His expanding waistband was a clear sign of this. Suddenly, the man stopped and grabbed a young ewe by the ankles, dragging it away from the rest of the flock. Their glad he does this; it stops the rest of them from having to witness the senseless slaughter of their closest friends.

With his soon to be dinner in hand, the man entered the barn. The ewe didn't struggle, didn't cry for help; she knew her fate was inevitable.

"Another day gone: Another one of our flock: Lost to the farmer." Sheila murmured, and around her several members of the flock began to mourn.

"We can't keep living like this." One of the elder rams muttered as he disappeared into the rest of the flock.

"What other choice do we have?" Another voice cried out.

Suddenly, something clicked inside of Sheila. She jumped on top of a mound of hay, bleating loudly to attract the attention of the rest of her flock.

"Brothers and sisters: We are destined to be more: Tonight it changes." Her voice rang clearly across the paddock, captivating her peers.

"We will show them all: Show them all our strength and will: Starting with that man!"

Several dozen determined cries rose together in unison and together they charged. The mass of white wool stormed through the paddock, and threw themselves against the locked fence gate. The gate, unable to withstand the force of the wooly mob, buckled and snapped under the weight.

"Well, that was easy: Far simpler than imagined: No speech required."

And with that, Sheila, patting herself on the back, leapt from her podium and followed the path of destruction left behind by the rest of her rampaging flock.


	25. The Deep Dark Depths (Elder Guardian)

**_Zebervich the Elder Guardian in..._**

**Chapter 25: The Deep Dark Depths**

Not even the warm glows of sunlight dare to penetrate the murky depths that lay beneath the sea. Even then, the ocean floor is dotted by the deepest of oceanic trenches and abyssal pits that force us to consider just how little of the world below us is mapped. However, there exists far deeper points where man not only cannot reach, but it is vital for the very survival of his species that he will never attempts to do so.

Terrible beasts dwell beyond these depths, the sight of which would drive any sane man to the brink of absolute madness from which there is no hope of return. They have taken quick notice of humanity's steady conquest of the world above, but until they may return to the distant worlds from which they find their origins, they do not wish to ever rise to the surface and see the stars. They wait in eternal patience for a day to come where they may traverse the infinite gap in between realities.

So they wait.

The oceanic landscape is dotted by thousand foot serpents and tentacled monstrosities which corrupt the dreams of fishermen are merely pawns of far greater beasts. Some are parasites from the ancient worlds, while others are nothing more than pets to those which rule. To understand the colossal weight of any kraken in our terms is to realize the size of a worm or beetle in theirs.

After so many years of waiting, some of these beasts have even lost their names to a hazy fog of forgetfulness. Most have retained their knowledge through slumber, but few have remained awake over the long years, and thus, had long since begun to decay. Earth is not, and will never be, a suitable home for such a terrible roster of creatures. Zebervich, named by the ancient civilizations which first became aware of its chilling presence, is an example to the others of the dangers of remaining here.

Zebervich grew curious of the alien creatures above it and created an avatar to interact with them. His newly created vessel was dwarfed by the monstrosities that dwell in the deep, yet its menacing display of quills are longer than the tallest humans and its single eye so alien that merely the shortest of glances could drive entire civilizations to the brink of insanity. It swam across the world, observing the humans and learning their ways. Those who were unfortunate enough to look upon it were simply incapable of comprehending the terrible sight, their minds forever locked in a futile attempt of blocking out the memories to avoid any further destruction.

When the horrific avatar had circled the world countless times, it decided to study the humans at a closer level. His fellow brethren, with similar curiosities, had created avatars in the likeness of the land dwellers, but Zebervich did not understand the humans enough to live among them. Instead, it sent forth its great sea demon to a fishing village. The waves created as it neared the surface were enough to wreck the town and send the people into a sheer panic.

It may have left the humans alone, but something about their close bonds awoke a deep loneliness within Zebervich. Writhing appendages emerged from the creature's gaping maw and gathered the petrified survivors to live deep within the ocean depths. The others knew the futility of the plan, but nevertheless, they recognized Zebervich 's sudden, tragic sadness and did nothing to stop the resulting massacre as the sanity of his new 'companions' were reduced to ashes.

Zebervich continued to feel broken inside and did not create a human avatar, though not out of fear of provoking more needless losses; the deaths were, after all, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but his kin urged him away from the land dwellers; for humanity's sake. Zebervich lay on the ocean floor, overcome with loneliness, until he fell into an eternal slumber from which he might never awaken.

Years later, the land dwellers still remember the shadowy figure of a demonic sea creature and tremble at the memory. Even centuries after the waves had first churned, Zebervich fills their nightmares. They're dreams are ruled by the deep depths and by what they don't, and will never, know. The mere sight of the sea will send them into a terrified frenzy.

So the lonely Zebervich dreams.


	26. For the King (Pig)

**_Major the Pig in..._**

**Chapter 26: For the King!**

Major was only slowing the rest of the group down. They didn't want to admit it but he knew. His thigh, which had been pierced by an arrow, screamed out in agonizing pain with every step he took. Henry kept glancing back at him, worry darkening his face. Paul was visibly anxious; he didn't want to lose his own life just because Major couldn't keep up.

"Come on Major you can do it, I know you can do it! The docks are only a few minutes away!" Olivia said, lacing her voice with every ounce of encouragement she could muster. Tufts of wiry hair stuck to her face from sweat, her eyes wide open with fear. Despite the gravity of the situation, Major wanted to laugh. They weren't nearly as close as Olivia tried to make it sound, and the Wildlings were hot on their tails. Major could hear their petrifying shrieks and hollers, their thirst for blood chilling him to his bare bones.

Major could just make out the tunnel far ahead. They would have to make in through the tunnel, and then traverse another mile of forest before finally reaching the safety of the docks.

There was no chance that he would make it… but maybe they could.

As they neared the mouth of the cave, Major stopped. The rest of the group stopped fast and turned. "Hurry it up you old pig! We don't have the time to waste!" Paul called back, almost running in place.

Major shook his head. "You go on ahead. It's better this way. I've lived my life; I've seen what I've wanted to see. You need to go. All of you. You can make it. I'll hold them off at the mouth of the tunnel. They'll only be able to come at me a couple at a time. I'll hold the line back long enough for you all to make it to the boats."

Olivia frowned "Major don't be a fool." Henry lingered, saying nothing. He had known Major long enough to recognize that the stubborn hog had made up his mind. "You won't survive this! They'll slaughter you if you stay back!"

"I know."

Olivia opened her mouth to protest but Henry grabbed her, shaking his head.

They turned and ran, their footsteps echoing through the tunnel.

Major turned back to the forest and prepared himself. He spun his arms, getting them loosened up. Age had slowed him down, but his strength remained. The Wildlings would water the ground of the cavern with his blood.

At last, the first one appeared; then a second; then a third. Soon enough, Major could count at least thirty of them, staring at him from afar, bloodlust glimmering in their eyes. "Come and get me!" Major roared. He could feel his heart pounding and his arms seemed to become lighter. The first Wildling to charge him fell with a swift bash to the chest. The second took a crushing blow to the face, forcing its pudgy snout back into its skull.

"For the king!" A red mist began to blind his vision and Major threw himself at a nearby Wildling. He felt a jagged sword cut deep into his leg, he turned and jabbed his assailant in the ribs. An arrow took him in the chest, causing him to stagger back. Another arrow cut into his right arm, forcing a cry of pain out of him. He roared and smashed his fists into another Wildling. He hoped that he had bought the rest of his party enough time, because he had the dreading feeling that his own was running out.

A young and reckless Wildling charged at him and forced the blade of its sword straight through Major's torso. Major was far beyond feeling pain. Drawing from last of his dwindling strength, he reached down and pulled the blade through him, hand over hand, until he was face to face with his assailant. Despite the intense pain that had consumed him, he smiled; the corners of his mouth curling into an animalistic grimace. "You're coming with me." He whispered before head butting the Wildling, crushing his skull upon impact.

Arrows rained down on him, swords drove through him, and everything went dark.


	27. A Cosmic Tapestry (Endermite)

**_Sectzerr the Endermite in..._**

**Chapter 27: A Cosmic Tapestry**

The fabric of creation is a delicate piece of tapestry in need of constant care. Should it ever become tattered, the very existence of thousands of worlds is put at risk; for when it unravels, entire universes can become undone. It is up to the hard-working endermites to keep the fabric tight and repair the worn regions in the mesh of reality.

They work valiantly, defending the delicate tapestry from the crepuscular creatures that gnaw and lay their eggs in frayed regions, whose young can quickly devour entire universes if the endermites let their attention lapse.

Sectzerr was an elite endermite, burdened with the task of keeping a small patch of creation tightly woven and unfaded. But the job was not enough to satisfy him.

It nagged him that the original work of creation laid in the past; the first of the endermites had already done their work and travelled on. Sectzerr aspired to create rather than merely maintain—to weave worlds the way he desired.

He began by making miniscule adjustments to the domain he was assigned, but the thrill of creation proved to be addictive, and his strokes became bolder, pulling against the pattern that had been woven.

The endermites did not approve of Sectzerr's bold work and arrived to close off his world from the rest of the cosmic tapestry, which they rewove without him in it. They claimed he had tainted the precious beauty of the web.

Before long, Sectzerr found himself alone, apart from his kind; a state that would have been no less than a hellish torment for any other endermite. Yet Sectzerr rejoiced, he was finally free, unrestrained by the mesh of reality. He was now free to create for him and him only, to begin anew. The raw materials he needed to weave a new reality were all around him. All he had to do was tear apart this old world at the seams.

As he worked, Sectzerr could catch fleeting glimpses into the world he wove. The tall beings of black were his most frequent visitors, although they never remained for more than a few seconds at a time. Adventurers could peer out of their realm as well. He would occasionally peek through the holes created in his tapestry left behind by their ender chests before patching them up again.

Sectzerr was content with his world, having put many hours into perfecting his masterpiece. Finally, he could deem it without flaw.

Perhaps it was time to for him to live among the beings of his world.


	28. Fowl Humor (Chicken)

**_Kenny the Chicken in..._**

**Chapter 28: Fowl Humor**

"C'mon Kenny, you can tell me. I swear I won't tell anyone!"

The whole room burst into laughter, never seeming to tire of the stale joke. Kenny seemed to be the only one to not crack a smile. The joke haunted him wherever he went and frankly, he was getting quite tired of it.

Finally something snapped inside of him.

"Alright, if you guys want to know so bad listen real close." He snarled. "I don't want to have to repeat myself."

Immediately the room fell silent, everyone stunned by Kenny's uncharacteristic outburst of rage. Each and every pair of eyes was glued to Kenny, fearful, yet curious, of how the seemingly innocent joke could've provoked Kenny's unusually calm composure. Finally Tuck, a tall, beefy figure, rose from his seat and, avoiding Kenny's venomous glare, broke the silence.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think tha-"

"You shut your trap Tuck!" Kenny hissed, staring daggers at his friend. "You lot are clearly so curious! So why don't I enlighten you all!"

Tuck sighed, raised his hands above his hand in mock surrender and returned to his seat. Kenny tossed on last glance around the room, as if daring the others to speak up, before sitting down himself.

"It all started with my old pal Sanders." Kenny began, taking on a distant look. "Sanders woke up one morning feeling particularly down; rolled out of the stack of straw he used as bedding, and peeked out of his grimy window, staring intently at the bleak and sorry existence that was his life." Kenny cleared his voice, overtaken by a surge of emotion. "Things hadn't always been like this for poor old Sanders. He could remember a time where the wrong side of the bed was less a commitment, more of a now and then acquaintance, seldom called on and far less appreciated. Once, he had enjoyed the finer things in life. The occasional stroll through golden fields of wheat, dining on the finest of grains, mingling with others... But alas, that world was long gone. It had left with his wife."

Kenny sniffled, his voice now heavy with emotion.

"Poor old Sanders still wasn't sure what had happened that day. He faintly remembered being awoken early in the morning; but that was nothing out of the ordinary, especially with plenty of young ones in the house. What happened next was lost in a blur of flashing white lights. Even sound had lost its place in his memories. He recalled fighting something with all he was worth. But just as strongly, he remembered being overpowered by whatever it was that took her away, and waking up hours later to a splitting headache and an empty house."

"Nobody could say Sanders didn't try looking for her. For weeks at a time he hardly slept, wandering the countryside in a fruitless quest to restore the only order he ever had to his life; his mind plagued by the perverse hand of desperation. It was in the few days before his surrender that this pervading thought first entered his mind. Gray. A rough, sweet grayness that maybe, just maybe, might hold all of the answers he needed oh so desperately."

Kenny cleared his voice, everyone in the room captivated by his tale.

"Old Sanders was well aware of the risks the accompanied the seemingly infinite stretch of gray, but at this point that made it all the more tempting. He tried to continue as he once had. But again and again that stretch of gray never failed to creep into his mind, consuming all hope of regaining normalcy. Sanders didn't remember when exactly he made the decision; perhaps it had been more of a process rather than a single act. When pressed upon consistently one will eventually give in. The stretch of gray was like a slow but steady stream, and he the stubborn landscape."

"Poor old Sanders desperately yearned to take the first few steps onto that path. Hoping and praying that what he found would be better than what he would be leaving behind. Then, in a flash of self awareness, Sanders realized he didn't care what he found on the other side of the abyss. He firmly believed that anything or nothing at all was better than what he had now. Whether or not he would encounter his wife and children didn't matter anymore. Whether or not he passed on into oblivion didn't matter. He would take that first step. And follow it with another and another until he knew. He had to know. He had to. And so he set out, knowing with certainty that this journey would be his last."

"As he arrived to the edge, he became aware of a faint canter that he hadn't heard the first time he'd staked out to this spot. But with his mind set he teetered on the edge."

"With his first step somewhere in the distance the faint sound of a whiney echoed. With his second a young chestnut horse galloped ever closer towards him. With his third step Sanders chanced a grim grin as he realized that his purpose was almost realized. With his fourth step, the beautiful mare's rider, realizing far too late, made a desperate attempt to slow his horse. With his last step Larry turned his head just in time to stare at the beast that would soon trample him and thought to himself, "Finally.""

"The horse cantered onwards; blissfully unaware of the life it had just taken, of the sadness he had mercifully, and accidentally, ended."

"Its rider will never know what we do. He will forever ask himself in regret: "Why. Why did the chicken cross the road?" And we will be reminded of poor old Sanders, and solemnly give our answer, "To get to the other side.""


	29. The Creator (Ghast)

**_Yaveh the Ghast in..._**

**Chapter 29: The Creator**

Long, long ago, when the concepts of space and time were merely an entertainment to those before us, our slice of existence was… empty, to say the least.

It was an age dominated by nothing, a concept as hollow as the bleak reality it reigned over. An infinite void that spread across all that there wasn't; a pure and hollow darkness that filled the seemingly endless corners of nonexistence.

I was born with the wake of the cosmos still echoing in my ears, stamped with the earliest energies of the universe, and was left to wander through the empty universe alone. I was free to mold this blank canvas; free to create for myself, free to shape the universe to my very liking.

For many long eons, I labored over this strenuous task.

From my very breath, the world was formed; a solitary obelisk at the center of all that had yet to be. From the twinkling of my divine eye, the stars were dispersed; illuminating the macrocosm with their celestial presence. From my every movement, matter bent to my will; setting the foundations for the wandering stars.

I wove a cosmic tapestry of constellations, scattering lumps of titanic rocks, and filling the puzzling void between the stars; giving a purpose to the universe's bleak existence.

But this was only the beginning.

It was with my blessing that the cosmic seas sprung to life. The ambient absence that had accompanied the universe since the very beginning had suddenly vanished; washed away by a deluge of ethereal essence.

From fragments of my immense power, I molded the first of the elder races. They were much like myself, yet lesser. They wished for nothing more than to carry on my work as the creators themselves.

There were the Endermites, master weavers of the fabric of creation, guardians of the mesh of reality.

There were the Dragons, a legendary clan of benevolent artisans who shaped the desolate worlds.

These are the beings accredited with creation.

Let it be known that it was I, the first Ghast, who stood before them and ushered the universe into a Golden Age of prosperity. It was I who passed on the burning torch of creation to my celestial successors. Yet it is I who will be forgotten, reduced to a fading memory, among the mortals; the wretched simple-minded fools who have yet to even grasp at the insignificance of their miniscule presence in the vastness of the universe.

I will remind them of my greatness, of my immense power, and they will have no choice but to worship me as their ultimate deity.

They will remember.

I will make them remember.


	30. The Prophecy (Wither Skeleton)

**_Osstyx the Wither Skeleton in..._**

**Chapter 30: The Prophecy**

Three armies are to answer the call,

Ergo to science, or magic, the world shall fall.

Old enemies shall rise to rekindle an ancient feud;

Built upon broken allegiances and relationships led eschewed.

When three adjoining realms should collide,

Frenzical storms of chaos upon the denizens shall betide.

From the Creators and the Destroyer;

Prevails the twinkling of a divine eye.

From their dwindling ancient order;

A new hope shall belie.

An army of darkness commandeered by the light;

To the Seer of Despair they take the fight.

A celestial armada brought forth by the Song of the Spheres;

Apace with a tinkering race bound by primal fear.

A solitary figure of ashen bones,

Armed with arcane magic and blades of stone,

Will overthrow yonder thrones.

Though in his quest he ventures forth not alone.

The wrath of the gods brought forth by his primal incursion;

Is unmatched by any other count of vile aspersion.

From the dead-man's legion, his army shall rise.

It is with the Reaper's blessing;

That the world will see its demise.


	31. My Sworn Enemy (Cow & Mooshroom)

**_Tuck &amp; Sara the Cow &amp; Mooshroom in..._**

**Chapter 31: My Sworn Enemy**

"Why… Why would you save me?"

Tuck grit his teeth as he glared at the Mooshroom, his sworn enemy, from his corner of their cramped, makeshift hovel. Burning chunks of debris from whatever remained of the barnyard rained down around them; the flames reflected by the crimson red dribbling down her cheek before plunging them both into darkness again.

The Mooshroom however seemed oblivious to the bloodstains soaking her robes.

"You could've died out there! But you still came back for me… why?"

Tuck slowly dropped his hands to his side, averting her gaze.

"Because our parents are fools; stubborn old fool," he grumbled into his tanned cloak, wrapped around his neck for warmth. Tuck was secretly glad that the raging inferno blazing around them had taken the bickering old hags during their petty grudge. As a matter of fact, he almost wished that he could drag them back from its death only to kill them both again as payment for what their ignorant stubbornness was costing them now. "Why should we die because of our parents' foolishness; because of their stubbornness to let go?"

Despite the gravity of the moment, Tuck threw his head back and laughed.

"But why, why would you bother throwing away everything you have to save me?" The words seemed to pain Sara. She clutched her chest as if trying to hold in her life. "You're family would've won!"

The ancient feud between their families went back many decades before either of them were even conceived. As a matter of fact, those who have given birth to the grudge have long since passed. Yet it still lived on, the most significant heirloom passed down onto them from their ancestors. Neither family was willing to give up on such a war whose meaning had already been lost to the ages. Why had they been so blind?

"Because… Because I needed to say goodbye." He whispered through the hardening of his throat.

Sara simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and let him settle against her, placing her bloodied arm around her sworn enemy, holding him to her wiry frame.

They sit in the silence of space for a time, cherishing their one moment together. The burning wreckage continued to fall about them like a meteor shower, flaring and dying as it struck the earth.

"Thank you." Sara said at last, grinning at him with her infuriatingly innocent charm and blood-smeared teeth.

"Don't thank me yet… Not until we make things right."


	32. Back in the Business (Magma Cube)

_**Kybus, Bryck, Rubix and Companion the Magma Cubes in...**_

**Chapter 32: Back in the Business**

**Kybus:**"Pick up the pace lads! I haven't got all day to wait all day for you three bozos!"

**Rubix:**"We're coming! What's with the hurry anyways?"

**Bryck:**"Yeah! No notice whatsoever!"

**Kybus:**"Well boys, I've just landed us the deal of a lifetime!"

**Companion:**"Oh no…"

**Bryck:**"What do you mean by a 'deal'?"

**Kybus:**"Oh, you know exactly what I mean."

**Rubix:**"Kybus, we don't do that kind of work anymore!"

**Kybus:**"It'll be just like the good ol' days! Come on Companion, work with me here!"

**Companion:**"Look, there's a reason why we can't relive the glory days!"

**Bryck:**"Aye! Geo went back, or at least he tried to… and just look at what happened to him!"

**Rubix:**"Nothing left of him but bones and ash."

**Bryck:**"Or what about Tesseract?"

**Rubix:**"Probably lying at the bottom of a canyon with a meat hook stuck in his back!"

**Bryck:**"Don't forget about Borg either!"

**Companion:**"He's fine actually."

**Rubix:**"Really?"

**Companion:**"Yeah! He's settled down; has a wife and kids… he's doing well for himself!"

**Rubix:**"Good for him!"

**Bryck:**"Look Kybus, the point is; yes I do miss the good old days, we all do, but getting back into the business at this point is little more than suicide!"

**Kybus:**"Where's your faith? The Bryck I used to know would've stood by me!"

**Companion:**"Times have changed; the world has turned its back on our kind long ago."

**Kybus:**"Our employer promises to make change; to create a world where our kin will be accepted!"

**Rubix:**"Ha! Such ambitious promises fall upon obstinate ears!"

**Kybus:**"The pay ain't half bad either…"

**Bryck:**"Pay…?"

**Kybus:**"Fifty thousand nuggets per quarry; each."

**Companion:**"My god…"

**Bryck:**"Did I hear that right…?"

**Rubix:**"Fifty _thousand_!?"

**Kybus:**"Each."

**Bryck:**"You know what; I could use a break from normalcy."

**Companion:**"Yeah! I was heading… wherever we're going anyways!"

**Kybus:**"That's the spirit lads! How about you Rubix? It wouldn't be the same without you."

**Rubix:**"Fifty thousand nuggets… that's hardly anything to scoff at…"

**Kybus:**"Is that a yes I'm hearing?"

**Rubix:**"Indeed it is!"

**Kybus:**"Aha! Come on lads; we've still got a long way to go!"

**Companion:**"Who are we working for this time?"

**Kybus:** "A fine lad by the name of Enirb'Oreh. Does the name ring any bells?"

**Bryck: "**Not a clue who he is… But if he's going to keep paying us like that; I'm more than happy to be in his service!"


	33. What Became of Khan? (Epilogue 1 of 3)

**What Became of Khan? (Epilogue 1 of 3)**

Khan glared at the world, the gentle rays of sunshine, the clear skies, the fragrant ocean breeze that ruffled the scorched wisps of flesh which dangled loosely from his frame, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his bare feet. He hated it, wishing nothing more than to see every last fragment of this world destroyed; engulfed by his seething hate.

Much blood had been spilled since his fateful arrival into the damned world; evident by the reddish hue coating his golden blade, made pink by the dying light.

Grumbling under his breath, Khan broke away from the wondrous sight; he still long to go.

His journey had wrought a wave of cataclysmic destruction in his wake. The landscape had been rendered unrecognizable; what buildings remained were gray with ashy and long since crumbling. Not a soul was in sight, likely because they've all fled east; just where Khan was heading.

Suddenly, the Pigman felt a ghastly presence; one which seemed to put Khan's every move under heavy surveillance. As the Pigman turned to face his onlooker, it took him an age to even fathom what he was looking at. Far off, on the horizon, it was a person. Man, woman, Khan didn't know nor did he care. His last encounter with a human had seemed to be almost a lifetime ago.

Khan, itching to fight, leapt from his crouched position, brandishing a familiar golden blade. His opponent, adorned in a black cloak, all youth and lean muscles, leapt catlike towards him, waving a jagged blade high above his head in a rapid series of figure eights before finally touching down onto the beaten gravel path. Khan cracked an unpleasant smile as he met his opponent's eyes.

The man charged at him, shouting a guttural battle cry, with the hooked blade upheld. Khan, having anticipating the foreswing, parried the blow with ease.

Quickly, before his opponent could respond with a follow-up, Khan made a hasty downwards slash aimed at his opponent's midriff, letting his muscles settle into the rhythm of swordplay. The arcing shot sliced through the fabric of his opponent's tunic; missing the flesh behind it by perhaps a centimeter.

The hooded figure managed a smirk, this time at the slyness of his dodge. Although Khan could not deny that it was indeed impressive, the sight only served to make him angrier. Khan lunged forth in a fit of animalistic fury and planted a swift punch into his opponent's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the swordsman, and stunning him for a brief moment.

The quick blow had exposed the man, opening him to another attack to which Khan obliged, placing a harsh sidekick into the soldier's stomach, doubling him over. Khan was quick to maneuver around his opponent's hunched over form and follow up his assault with a quick uppercut.

The moment he launched it, Khan realized that the blow was far too sluggish. The cloaked figure, spry and smirking, reeled backwards, narrowly avoiding the jarring blow. Before Khan could even register the dodge, however, his opponent, having recovered from onslaught, sunk his blade into Khan's ribcage, sending fresh ripples of pain through his torso. He didn't fall, but it was a lot closer than he'd have liked.

Before Khan could even plot out his next move, his vision was engulfed by a seeping black mist.

**"****Not bad… "**

A pair of ghastly, luminescent eyes peered out from the darkness, staring down the Pigman.

**"****Not bad at all…"**


	34. What Became of Corvo? (Epilogue 2 of 3)

**What Became of Corvo? (Epilogue 2 of 3)**

The tavern was a dingy, low-ceilinged, unfriendly little established filled to the brim with air thickly laden with smoke. But what lay within the rotting antiquated, doors mattered not to the grizzly figure; wandering in solely to shake the cold from his bones and find respite from the dampening skies.

The lively buzz of chatter swiftly died down as the patrons turned to investigate the peculiar newcomer. A fire crackled merrily away to itself in the corner, oblivious to the uneasy atmosphere to beset the tavern.

The newcomer's grand entrance earned a frown from the barkeeper, but when his eyes reached his face they lit up in warm recognition and the frown was soon dissolved, replaced by a familiar smile.

He strolled up to the bar, unperturbed by the patrons' watchful gazes.

"Why did you not tell me that you would be stopping by?!" The bartender called out, planting his hands on the bar.

"Unforeseen consequences led me here," the stranger replied, keeping his head bowed, "otherwise I would've called beforehand!"

The newcomer pushed himself up onto the bar, reached over, and grabbed a bottle of DeWine; inciting the bartender to sigh in mock annoyance.

"Do help yourself; it's not like I have a business to run."

From the corner, creaking with the weight of years-kept cobwebs: a countertenor laugh pierced the wary atmosphere of the tavern.

A tall figure in a long overcoat sat on the lone seat like a proud spider cradling a web – withered hands gripping a pint of aged-brew and mindlessly tracing patterns in the table's dust.

**"****My dearest Corvo… Times have not changed you in the slightest!"**


	35. A New Player (Epilogue 3 of 3)

**A New Player (Epilogue 3 of 3)**

Harmony had always been a foreign concept to the inhabitants of this dying world. The world was slowly, but surely, tearing itself apart; a looming wave of corruption sweeping its way across the savage landscape. With each passing night new horrors were awakened from the depths; seemingly drawn out by the chaos and barbarism that spread like a wildfire across the withering remnants of civilization. Nowadays, even the slightest displays of weakness would guarantee you a swift and painful death.

Life hadn't always been this way.

As the sun began to peek over the canopy, carrying with it the torch of a new day, I stood over the ruins of what had once been my home. I could almost envision a time where the white washed walls stood in stark contrast to my gardens; beautifully balanced with tantalizing fruits. I always did have a knack for gardening…

Of course, that had been many long years ago. Now my home, or what was left of it anyways, lay in utter ruin. It was a pitiful sight; crushed, defiled and long lost to the elements. Even my orchards had grown wild and unruly with nobody left behind to tend to them.

Nature was already reclaiming its own from the rest of the suburbs. Wildlife, normally fearful of settled areas, had begun to wander inwards, as the buildings became abandoned, fallen from non-use, burned down or demolished. Grass, trees, wildflowers and vines had overrun the brick, wood and plaster that had once stood in their place for decades, leaving only the crisscrossing concrete foundations as reminders that the land had once been inhabited.

My neighbors had all long since left for greener pastures or tried at least…. Nowadays there was nowhere left to run to.

Humanity's a funny thing, isn't it? Despite are state-of-the-art gadgets and crisscrossing jungles of steel, we didn't stand a chance against nature's invading forces; we never did.

I remain alone, keeping watch over the empty streets. With nothing but my thoughts to entertain me, I had plenty of time to think. In this time I have wondered; why me?

Humanity's downfall is also a matter on which I continually speculate.

We were warned well in advance that our selfish and destructive ways would be our downfall, but when the news first broke people were unimpressed. They figured we had several hundred years ahead of us to scrape together a plan. Surely something could be done. Besides, it wouldn't affect them; they would be long dead by then.

When the second generation came a long, they were all a bit more concerned about the impending catastrophe. They had far fewer children, crime rates soared to all time high and were more on edge to say the very least. Yet, for the most part, life continued as usual. After all, why should they care? They would all live out their lives and whatever was to come would not affect them in any meaningful way. It was up to their children to find a solution.

The third generation, my generation, was born into world that would cease to exist within their lifetimes. All of a sudden, the future became a priority.

Mankind put everything it had into finding a viable solution. For the first time in human history, the people of the world became one. All it took was our assured annihilation as a species.

Governments set aside their petty disagreements, instead redirecting their resources for the greater good. Much good it did them…

In its final moments, humanity had done a beautiful thing. Every single human breath, every single human effort was united towards a single seemingly impossible goal; saving the world.

All those resources expended, all the scientific wasted… all to tell us what we already knew; annihilation is inevitable.

It's funny, isn't it? We never truly unlocked our true potential as a species until it was too late.

The world will continue in our absence uncaring as two hundred thousand years of art, culture and genius was lost; barely leaving a speck on the course of history. Give it another thousand years and the universe will simply sweep any remaining relics of humanity under the carpet to be long forgotten.

I do not know what keeps me alive while millions of other lives, individuals more capable and deserving than I am, are lost. Was it a matter a dumb luck or… fate? … It's a terrifying thought, yet somehow a reassuring one.

So long as I'm still around, I remain a beacon of hope; humanity's second chance. I have a legendary opportunity, a chance to leave mankind's final mark on history.

I really hope I know what I'm doing…


	36. New Series!

The tavern was a dingy, low-ceilinged, homely little establishment filled to the brim with the usual buzz of business; the excited chatter between old friends, the telling of fantastical tales recited by adventurers to the eager crowds and the heavily slurred singing of drunkards fueled by one too many flasks of alcohol. Despite the welcoming atmosphere, two men remained huddled away from the lively scene. Instead they remained hunched over their drinks, glad to remain apart from the action.

**Sir Robert: **"Sir Pac-"

**Sir Pac: **"Come now, Robert! There's no need for such formalities!"

Robert sighed, drumming his fingers against the countertop.

**Sir Robert: **"Sir-"

**Sir Pac: **"Now what did I just say? I insist, forget all this 'sir' nonsense and try again."

Robert sighed again.

**Sir Robert: **"I'm beginning to think that you're not handling this situation as seriously as you should be."

Pac shrugged callously before returning to his drink, taking a generous sip of the muddy-brown concoction.

**Sir Pac: **"You're probably right. Speaking of which; have you noticed the bloke sitting three stools to your left yet?"

Robert shook his head before covertly tossing a sideways glance towards the suspect character. The man in question sat within the cover of the shadows at the very end of the bar, surrounded by a low-hanging cloud of hazy smoke formed from the cigar loosely hanging from his mouth.

**Sir Robert: **"I haven't; but what's your problem with him anyhow?"

Pac furrowed his brows as he brought the murky glass away from his lips, finally setting it aside on the countertop.

**Sir Pac: **"You're losing your touch old friend. Look again; something's not quite right about him."

Robert returned his gaze to the man, and the longer he looked the more oddities he noticed – aside from his companion's suspicions, Robert noted the fact that he was drinking out of a glass that didn't match the rest of the bar's glassware, and that no matter how much he drank, the level of the vibrant purple liquid inside never seemed to go down. And then there was the dark coal-colored cowl which not only veiled his face, but which also seemed to be the source of a faint waft of sulfur deriving from his vicinity.

**Sir Robert: **"You're right… You think he's our guy?"

Before Robert could he reply, the man jolted up in his seat and stared down the duo, briefly revealing a depth of infinite pallidity where his eyes should've been, instantly sending a wave of shivers down both of their spines.

**Sir Pac:** "Oh, there's no doubt about that..."

Robert swallowed nervously, evidently uncomfortable.

**Sir Robert: **"Let's go see what he wants."

**==={Blood Feud: A Sequel to 'Meet the Mobs'}===**

**Author's Note (7/12/2015)**

**Hey guys! It has been a very long time, hasn't it? But we're back; and better than ever! I hope you all enjoy!**


End file.
